


5SOS One Shots

by ThtGrnGntlmn



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M, cosmetologist!michael, domestic!michael, drunk!michael, teasing!calum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:42:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7723780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThtGrnGntlmn/pseuds/ThtGrnGntlmn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of 5sos one shots that I've written for fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Way - Michael Clifford

**Author's Note:**

> You get home from an extremely long day at work to find Michael waiting with a pleasant surprise for you.
> 
> \---- Posted originally on my-5sos-babes.tumblr.com ----

You slammed the car door shut with a grunt of effort. You were livid. Absolutely pissed off. _How the ever-loving fuck could your boss get away with that?_ You took in a deep breath, trying to calm down. _Just fucking ridiculous_. You continued to cuss in hushed tones, as to not disturb the neighbors. You breathed deeply a few more times, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. After you felt you had cooled down somewhat, you began to make your way towards the front door.

You'd already texted Michael a quick debriefing of what happened at work–while still at work–a few hours earlier. Not the whole thing, just enough to get the point across.

You turned the key in the doorknob and stepped into your house. As soon as you shut the door, you leaned against it and shut your eyes. You were pretty certain you were close to sobbing when you suddenly noticed a quiet, muffled sound coming from the kitchen.

It wasn't like you've never come home to hear Michael shredding on his guitar, or playing one of his favorite albums, both while usually having some friend or other hanging around. But this was different. It was softer, sweeter. Almost... almost melancholy.

Curiosity enchanting you, you set your bag over on your coffee table and trekked up the staircase.

The closer you got to the kitchen, the clearer the song became. You started to recognize the lyrics.

 

_I've lived a life that's full_

_I've traveled each and every highway_

_But more, much more than this_

_I did it my way_

 

It was Frank Sinatra. His smooth voice sent a wave of calm through your body. You wondered why Michael was playing your old vinyl records. Sure, he liked them, but–as he so elegantly put– you can't, "rock out," to them. Your mouth hinted at a smile as you rounded a corner into the kitchen. Only hinted.

You had searched for only a few moments before you saw Michael.

He was standing right in the middle of the kitchen–which seemed to be dimly lit–with a bouquet of roses in hand. He was smiling sheepishly, but proudly, seemingly waiting for your reaction.

"Mikey..." You whispered softly, after a beat longer. "What is all of this?"

His smile warmed as he explained. "It sounded like you were having really rough day, so I thought it might be nice to, I dunno, come home and just get flowers 'n stuff, so yeah..." Michael rambled, becoming sheepish again. He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand and looked down at the ground.

You took a miniscule step closer to him, pulling at the sleeves of your cardigan. "Mikey-" You sighed.

"Oh!" He exclaimed, before you could get another word in. Not like you could, anyway. "I also made dinner. Your favorite. Although, it's probably not as good as you make it, to be honest, because you always make it just right. I probably under seasoned it, as well-"

"Mike," you said.

He kept to going on and on, gesturing over the pot that had several servings of linguini still boiling. "-and I may have overcooked the pasta-"

"Mikey," you said a bit louder, more stern.

He didn't hear you. "And I also probably sc-"

"Michael!"

His head snapped back towards you, his cheeks a rosy color of embarrassment.

You closed the gap between the two of you and put your palms on his cheeks–which caused his face to squish up in that super adorable way that you loved– forcing him to look you in the eye. You assured him, "It'll taste fantastic," then planted a firm, yet gentle kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, you locked your eyes with his. You glanced down to notice he was still holding the flowers. You plucked them out of his grasp, deeply inhaled the scent, and then set them down on the counter.

Michael opened his arms and you followed suit; you both were wrapped in each other's warm embrace, with chin resting on the top of your head, and your ear resting against his chest, listening to his strong, constant heartbeat. After a few seconds of silence and just standing there, Michael spoke.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

You responded with a gentle 'no'.

You two stood there in the middle of the kitchen for a few more moments. Before you realized what was happening, you two began swaying to the music as its volume increased. You shifted your body against Michael's in search for his hands. He seemed to have the same idea. He slowly interlocked your fingers with his own, his left hand settling on your hip. You brought your other hand to rest on his shoulder. Michael took the lead and danced in small circles on the kitchen tile.

You didn't think you heard it at first, yet you soon realized Michael was singing the lyrics of the song under his breath.

" _I've loved, I've laughed and cried... I've had my fill, my share of losing..._ "

Without meaning to, you started to tear up, ironically.

" _And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing_..."

You're not sure what it was, but for some reason, Mikey singing one of your favorite songs in raspy, hushed tones and him trying to cook when the both of you know he can typically fuck up something as simple as ramen and after what your day had been like– it just got to you.

Michael paused his singing, and brought his lips close to your ear, just barely grazing it, and sang the next few lines directly to you. " _For what is a man... What has he got... If not himself, then he has naught._.."

You bit your lip, trying so hard to keep the moisture out of your eyes. It became more and more difficult with every single syllable that came out of Michael's mouth.

" _The record shows... I took the blows... and did it my way_..."

Tears began spilling onto your cheeks, soaking the front of Mikey's shirt. He felt them then, pulling back to look at you, a knowing pain hiding behind his eyes. While he was figuring a way out to comfort you, you began drinking in his features. You sometimes would forget how much you loved to look at Michael. His lips and his eyes were your favorite; you could never decide between them. They both were so expressive and emotive, you could just find yourself having a conversation with him, and be more focused on what his eyes say rather than what his words did.

Mike lifted his hands up to brush the water away from your cheeks. You reveled in the feeling and leaned into his touch, closing your eyes. You sighed and opened your eyes to peer up at your beautiful boyfriend.

"I'm sorry you had such a shitty day today, (Y/N)." He stated.

You replied. "It's okay, it wasn't your fault... besides, after all that you've done for me? It has made my day a thousand times better. So thank you."

Michael spoke after a few beats. "I love you, (Y/N)."

You didn't utter a word, but reciprocated the feeling by leaning up and placing your lips on his own.

—

_Yes, it was my... way_


	2. Give Me A Tension - Calum Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Calum play innocent games to pass the time after a power outage, but soon you find yourselves in a tense situation.
> 
> \---- Originally published on my-5sos-babes.tumblr.com ----

"Nineteen. Favorite tattoo you've ever gotten?"

"Mmm... The one that represents my sister. Twenty." Calum paused, thinking. "What do you think my best quality is?"

You considered for a moment before you answered. "You're resting bitch face."

"My resting bitch face?" He questioned.

"Yeah. It's very... bitchy." Calum laughed at that, and you smiled. "Okay, twenty. On a scale of one to ten, how bored are you right now?"

"Oh, definitely an eleven. Maybe twelve, actually."

You burst out a short and loud snort of laughter at that comment. There's a solid thirty seconds before you sighed, "So the generator is definitely broken?" You thought back to how the power went out an hour ago, when you two were just about to have a movie marathon. Typically by this time you'd be running on generator power, but Calum claimed that when he went to turn it on, he found of family of lovely rats nesting right inside it.

"Well, it's not broken. I just can't turn it on."

"Oh, you know what I mean." You huffed. "Shouldn't the power be back by now anyway?"

Cal shrugged. "Depends. Could've been a simple problem with a couple wires. Or someone could've had an accident into a main generator. Y'never know."

Your eyes widened involuntarily. "Damn. We could've lost power because someone died."

"... That's quite a macabre thought, (Y/N)," Calum joked. You rolled your eyes at him and gave him a friendly shove. _Ha. Friendly_. The two of you fell silent again as you left yourself to think.

You spoke up. "D'you remember any elementary school games?"

Cal appeared perplexed.

"... _Primary_ , do you remember any _primary_ school games." A look of understanding crossed his features. "Honestly, if you're gonna be an Australian living in America, you gotta keep up with the lingo, man. Elementary school. Fahrenheit. Florida."

Calum chuckled under his breath while shaking his head. "Maybe you Americans need to just conform to the rest of the world," he said slyly. "Primary school. Celsius. The metric system."

"Um, excuse you, America doesn't need to change because we're beautiful the way we are, m'kay?" You fake-sassed and tipped your head up with pride–placing your fists on your hips–defiant. Calum just shook his head again, looking down this hands. You bit your cheek, waiting to see if Cal would give you a proper response. "Got nothing?" You asked.

"Nope. Nada."

"Okay, then... " You mulled over the list in your head. "Can you survive the Seven Seas?" You said dramatically, trying to make your voice sound a bit like a movie trailer voice.

"The Seven Seas," Calum said plainly, blinking at you in confusion.

"Yeah, me and my friends used to play it. So basically, the objective is that you try not to laugh. If you laugh, you're done. What you do is, starting around the lower thigh near the knee, you squeeze your opponent's leg twice in a quick succession. If your opponent doesn't laugh, you move slightly further up the leg and repeat. Once reach seven and they haven't laughed, they won, unless you also don't laugh. Then it can be either considered a tie, or you could ask for a rematch."

Cal nodded along with you, but stopped for a second. "Isn't that a little risqué for eight-year-olds?"

You shrugged. "I never thought much of it, to be honest. It was always fun to see how far everyone could get."

Calum considered the offer. "Okay." After a quick run through of the rules again, Calum took charge first. He placed his hand on your leg, looking up at you uncertainly. You nodded in encouragement but kept stoic features. He squeezed. Nothing happened. So he moved up and squeezed again. Still, no result. He did this five more times, but to no avail. You smirked in victory.

"So I'm guessing you're either good at holding back your laughter or you aren't ticklish." Cal summed up.

"I guess I forgot to mention that I'm the reigning champion of this particular game..." You replied smugly.

Calum scoffed, "Cheater."

You offered a cheesy grin to which he reluctantly accepted. "Alright. Your turn."

You scooted closer to him to get a better angle; this was an art form. Something that had to be perfected. You took your sweet ol' time with this, since you weren't sure what Cal's reaction would be. And boy, was it fun.

He was doing good until about halfway through when he suddenly stopped your hand from moving up any farther. You were rather caught off guard and looked up. "That's not how-"

He was staring at you, a strange look in his eye. "-the game... works..."

You felt your heart skip a little. _Had I done something wrong?_ Right as you were about to apologize, Calum took your hand and moved it further up his thigh. Determinedly.

Your eyes darted back and forth from your hand to Cal's eyes, and something clicked into place. Before either of you could stop yourselves, your lips crashed together, hungry. Curious. It didn't take long for you two to become acquainted to one another so openly.

You straddled Calum as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Calum's hands were not relenting at all, eagerly running all up and down your sides, over your torso, to your ass... He searched.

And you searched back. You slid your hands up his shirt, muscled skin radiating heat like a furnace. He moaned softly and rolled over. Your lips disconnected for a brief pause as he straddled you, but not for long. You continued as if you never stopped.

His stubble scratched at your face, leaving a rawness behind. The burn began to move down your face as Cal moved down your jawline and to your neck while you tried to regain your breath. You gasped as he reached that trademarked sweet spot you had, right at the hollow of your neck. You bit your red, swollen lips, yet didn't stop yourself from whispering out a low 'Calum...' which only encouraged him more.

Your heart race increased so rapidly, you were surprised it hadn't burst out of your chest at this point; you didn't have to guess that Cal's heart was doing the same.Calum's lips had regained their previous spot just for a minute or two before you switched places with him and lightly grazed down his neck. You thought you felt it before, but as soon as you started nibbling at Cal's earlobe, you could definitely tell his heart was throbbing; his body ever so slightly grinded against yours, unable to take this teasing for much longer. "(Y/N)," Calum moaned.

You brought your lips back up to his, and you both skated your tongues across one another's. His mouth tasted of peppermint and lightly of tobacco; just enough to send your head spinning. Your hands grappled at Calum's hair, pulling and tugging. A small whimper emitted itself from somewhere inside Cal's chest, causing you to smirk against his lips.

You pulled back then to stare up at Calum, his lips puffy and eyes teeming with lust.

"So," your voice was ragged, "that been in you for a while?"

He licked at his lips, still a bit dazed. He nodded. "Yeah. I guess."

"... Would you like to continue upst-?"

"Oh, God yes."

Calum had already picked you up and locked his lips to yours as you made your way to finish what you had started.

 


	3. I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am - Michael Clifford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael Facetimes you in the middle of the night, completely drunk; all thoughts are unfiltered which leads to quite the predicament.
> 
> \---- Originally published on my-5sos-babes.tumblr.com ----

You were in a blissful, much needed sleep when it happened. An annoying blaring sound was coming from your phone. You woke with a start, trying your best to find your phone in the dark. When you did find it, you noticed the caller ID–it was Michael. You glanced at the clock.

It was 2 AM.

You huffed in frustration and answered the call, still not quite awake yet. As soon as the call went through, the first thing you had heard was a joyous cry from Mike.

"AYEEEEE..."

You winced from the sudden loudness.

"Hey- hey guys! Guys! She answered!" Michael said, looking over his shoulder. There was a chorus of more "ayees" in the background–which sounded like Calum, Luke, and Ashton– who seemed to be just as hammered as Michael.

Michael's words slurred together as you rubbed your eyes. "Why's it so dark? I can't see your face," he pouted. "Can ya turn on a light?" He started to whine.

"Michael, no. It's two in the morning, you fuck-wit."

His brow furrowed and squinted at the timestamp on his phone. "Oh shit," he realized. "Sorry." He giggled, losing all sincerity in his voice. "Guys! Holy shit, guys it's two A.M." Michael shouted. The other guys in the room cheered again, obviously ecstatic over their meager endeavor.

Mikey's attention turned back to you. "I miss you so much, (Y/N)," he stumbled.

"Mike, I saw you only yesterday," you complained.

"Yeah, I know," he drawled. "But still."

"Okay, buddy, well if you don't mind, I'm going to go back to sleep now alright?"

"Nooooooo..." Mike said. You swear, he was acting so childish. "Please stay, (Y/N), pleeeaasssee?"

"Ugh. Fine. You win." Although he was acting like a kid, it still was so satisfying when he begged for you to do something. Plus he looked so cute with his lower lip jutting out.

"Yay!" He squealed, giggling again. That caused you to giggle, and you found yourself to be more awake now. You say up in bed, fluffing the pillows around you.

"So?" You asked. "What is it you wanna talk about?"

Michael blew a raspberry. "I dunno."

You thought for a second, but before you could say anything, Mike started up again.

"You know, (Y/N), you're so pretty. Like really, really, pretty. You're lying in bed right now and you probably still look like a goddess."

You were taken aback by his sudden brash behavior. "Oh, Michael, you don't have to-"

"No like, I mean it. You're really, super-duper pretty. And gorgeous. You're pretty gorgeous. Hehe. Pretty gorgeous." He giggled some more in such in an endearing way. But you couldn't focus on that.

"Mikey-"

"And you're like uber-smart. Not like über- an über driver- but like very. You're so much smarter than me. And that? Thas-so cool, brutha."

You were becoming concerned. Michael would never admit to you–even on your own deathbed–that you were intellectually superior. Even though both of you knew it was true, he'd never say it. Most of the time when he was drunk, he still wouldn't say these words.

He must've been really far-gone.

"Michael," you stated, putting on your serious face.

"(Y/n)," he mocked, snickering.

"How much have you had?" You questioned.

He smirked sloppily. "Had wha- what?" He hiccupped. He laughed then, at what you weren't sure.

"Michael. How much alcohol have you had to drink?"

He responded with an incredibly slurred 'I dunno'.

"Do you have a designated driver?"

He nodded his head and laughed even more.

"Who?"

He turned the camera to the rest of the guys. "Hey! D.D., where you at?"

From the corner, Ashton raised his hand and waved energetically, a loopy grin on his face. His other hand was holding–lo and behold–a half empty bottle of Jack Daniel's.

_Oh hell no._

"Okay, you know what?" You said. "I'm picking you guys up. Are you at Ash's?"

Mike rubbed his eyes. "Mhmmm...."

"Alright. I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Okie-dokie."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When you got to Ash's house, you didn't even bother with knocking on the door and walked right on inside.

The first thing you heard was the sound of loud shouting over some music. You followed the source to the basement, where you discovered all four of the guys playing beer pong.

_You've_ got _to be kidding me._

You immediately stalked over to the stereo and shut off the music, much to the objection from those jerk-offs you called friends.

"Quiet down!" You yelled. They did as told. It's definitely too early for this shit. You let out a quick and giant sigh to prepare for you monologue. "All of you. Upstairs. Now." You tried on your best mom voice to make them comply. Slowly, one by one, they shuffled up the stairs, tripping occasionally due to their drunkenness.

You paced up and down the living room after forcibly pushing everyone onto the couch. You took a deep breath and let it rip.

"What _the hell_ were you thinking?! You're leaving for tour tomorrow and you thought it'd be a goddamn fantastic idea to stay up all night? And then on top of that–you all though it'd be even better to get so pissed that you could barely operate properly? What _the actual fuck?_ What logic is there in that? Please, just enlighten me."

You could tell that you were overreacting. But you didn't care. You were woken up–after getting maybe two hours of sleep–to your friends being complete dumbasses. You couldn't care less, in the moment.

All four of them remained silent. It seemed they were unsure of what to say. You stared down each of them individually, holding their gazes for at least five seconds. When it got to Calum, at the opposite side of the couch, he let up.

"We didn't mean to! We were only trying to make Michael-" Cal was quickly cut off by Luke jabbing him in the ribcage. His face fell, and he refused to look at anything but the floor then.

Those words took hold in you. The gaps that Calum had left out were filled in. You glanced around the group as a whole. They looked absolutely miserable. Whether or not that be from guilt or alcohol, you weren't sure. _Probably both._

You grew concerned. You knew Michael's had some struggles with mental health in the past–you personally helped him through some of those occasions– and you were definitely aware of how bad his spells could get.

"Mikey?" You said, unsure what could and couldn't be said in front of others. You took a few steps towards him. "Are you alright?"

He wouldn't look you in the eye, and was rather intrigued by a little glass statuette on a table to his left.

"Mikey?" You said again.

"Yeah, fine," he said. His tone had an edge to it. Almost clipped. He still refused to look your way.

You notices how his posture had stiffened, his muscles tense. As tense as they could be, anyways. That was your cue to lay off. You stepped back and put a hand to your forehead, deep in thought. "Okay!" You clapped your hands together, which caught all of them off guard. "Okay, Ashton!" You pointed at him.

He stared at you, in a sort of stupor. You moved your finger into a 'come here' motion. He complied, stumbling on his way over. You set your hand on his back and guided him to his room. "Don't go anywhere," you said sternly with a warning glare at the other three before climbing up the staircase.

You put Ashton in his room, found a pair of pajamas and threw them at him while muttering, "Change into these." You went back downstairs to the kitchen to get some water, and grabbed a towel and empty garbage bin from the bathroom on your way back. When you entered Ash's room again he was changed into the pajama bottoms, awkwardly standing since he was completely helpless and had no idea what to do. "Bed. In. Now." You directed. He warily followed suit, his eyes never leaving you as you set up shop. You lay the towel on the floor next to Ash's bed, placed the bin on top of it and set the water on his nightstand.

You pointed at these objects in turn, explaining. "Water: hangover helper. Bin: puke holder. Towel: puke protection. Got it?"

He nodded in almost a kid-like manner. You sat next to him on the bed and rubbed his leg. The way your mother used to when you were sick.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blow up at you guys. I just-" you sighed. "I just had a long day. And you should've known better. Getting wasted before tour starts... especially if you were supposed to drive everyone home." You let out another sigh, and rubbed your temple.

"Hey..." Ash whispered, almost asleep now. "I'm sorry, too. We didn't mean to, it just sorta happened. We only wanted to cheer up Mikey."

Your brows furrowed. "Can you tell me why you had to cheer him up?"

Ashton chewed his lip for a second, his face showing deep thought. In that instance he almost appeared sober.

"... No. I shouldn't say. He'll tell you if he wants."

You nodded to yourself. _But why?_ Was all you could think. "Alright." You pat Ash's leg. "Get to sleep now. Long day tomorrow."

He nodded, snuggling into the blankets. "You behave yourself, got it? Don't want you in any tabloids."

You smiled lightly. Ash was snoring softly by then. You gave his leg one final tap and whispered a gentle, "Goodnight." You gave him a kiss on the forehead then left his room, ready to round up the... Less compliant boys.

——————————

By the time you got home, you were beat. It took a great deal longer to get Luke and Cal into bed than it did with Ash. And after all of that, you decided it was easier to bring Michael home. The two main reasons: you were worried about him, and you didn't want to fall asleep at the wheel.

You opened your door with a grunt. It was always sticking. _Should probably talk to the landlord about that._

"Mikey, c'mon," you offered your hand to pull him inside. He was still quite drunk, so he nearly decapitated himself when he tripped over the threshold.

He wasn't happy-drunk now. He was quiet-drunk. And that terrified you.

Gently, you brought him down on your couch and quickly got the same things you did for the other three. Right as you muttered a slightly clipped, "Night," and nearly left the room, Mike took hold of your hand again.

"Can you stay?" He asked. He seemed so vulnerable. You nodded after a moment; he let go of after you sat next to him. There was a bit of silence between the two of you... Then Michael started talking. It sounded strange. As if it wasn't his own voice.

"Hey, I- I'm sorry for calling you so late."

"No, no don't be. I'm glad you did, to be honest. You could've ended up in a ditch somewhere. Which is why I'm glad you called."

"Yeah, well," he sighed. "'S still stupid."

You bit your lip, absently tugging at some dead skin. "Mikey," you began. "Really. Are you alright?"

He rubbed a hand over his face and inhaled deeply. "Not really."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

He shrugged. "I mean-" He paused. "I _want_ to. But I can't. I- I'm not-"

"-Hey," you interjected, resting a hand on his knee. He stopped all movement I'm that moment and gazed down towards it as if it were some alien creature. "I won't force you to say anything you don't want to. If something makes you uncomfortable, I won't force you to talk about it."

He groaned, "That's just the thing!" He buried his face in hands in frustration. "I... It'd be a lot to put on you."

Your face screwed up in confusion. _What could that possibly be?_

"When I said you were a beautiful, I meant it. Like really-really meant it."

You turned your body to get a better view of Mike. He was looking down towards the ground.

"Mikey, I know you do..." you trailed off, not knowing if it would be better to say anything else.

"(Y/N)..." His words mushed together. "Oh, God, (Y/N)." He finally looked up at you. The light in his eyes were dim, non-reflective. Everything about his body language—it was so rigid. It was... guarded.

That so didn't ease your worry.

"I'm such an idiot." He shook his head and turned away once more. "I hate it, and I hate myself for it, and I hate myself for hating it! And I hate myself for being such a coward. I want to tell you, but that wouldn't be fair. To me and you. But if I don't tell you..." Michael shivered. It appeared that his whole body was shaking, not able to control his emotions any longer. He stayed quiet for a couple seconds longer. Suddenly and clumsily, he plucked up that hand that was resting on his knee. He fiddled with your fingers while he went on. "(Y/N)," he gulped. "Jesus, this is hard."

You rubbed your thumb in small circles against his hand in encouragement. Whenever he had a hard time saying something, you always found that supportive, motherly touching soothed him a lot. It always narrowed down to hand holding or back rubbing. It was kind of endearing, in a weird way.

As you allowed him to gather his thoughts, your own mind drifted off. What brought you back to reality was what Michael blurted out next.

"I love you."

You froze.

_He must mean it in the friend kind of way._

_But he wouldn't be so strung up about it if that was true._

_But that doesn't make sense!_

_It actually makes all the sense in the world._

"I'm in love with you! There's no denying it." He said it with conviction, completely unable to help himself.

This sent your head spinning. You found yourself staring holes in the floor; you swung your head back up to look at Michael. He seemed to be watching you intently. His drunken state was clouding his vision though.

You sighed, "Mikey..."

Before you let out another syllable, Michael was crashing his lips onto your own. They were wet, sloppy, and they tasted like stale beer. His teeth clanged against yours painfully. But you couldn't help the flame that rose up in your belly.

"Mike-!" you gasped on his mouth. "Michael!" You placed your hands on his chest and immediately shoved him back. "Don't do this..."

His eyes gleamed with raw emotion. It was powerful; teeming with lust and disappointment. "Please?" He asked. "Please, for me."

You hesitated. Since you didn't answer, Mike took that as an invitation. He leaned in again and set his lips into yours. It was softer this time. Not as desperate. You thought it'd be easier to let him get it out of his system, but it felt wrong. So wrong. You pulled back quickly.

"Mikey, no. You're drunk. I'd be taking advantage of you if we keep going with this."

Michael pauses then nods slowly. "I understand..."

"We'll talk about-" you gestured between the two of you, "-everything? ...Tomorrow. Goodnight."

You stood and let Michael curl up underneath his blanket. As you turned out the light and went to your room, you could still feel your heart fluttering in your chest.

And the sensation of your lips tingling from that kiss.

——————————————————————————————

_The next morning- Michael's POV_

I opened my eyes... Directly in a ray of sunshine.

"Fuck!"

My head was absolutely pounding. I sat up, causing my stomach to turn. Aw, shit. I noticed a bucket on the floor and in a prompt split second decision–threw up in it. When my stomach was empty, I rolled onto my back. I put my arm over my eyes attempting to let the darkness pull me under. _That won't happen anytime soon though._

I pulled my arm back and opened my eyes. _Has light always been this painful?_ Jesus.

I tried to focus on the ceiling, since it was a consistent soft blue color; unmoving, unlike everything else... Funny, I didn't think that–

_Wait. That's not my ceiling._

I jolted upright, eyes darting around the room. I let out a sigh of relief and put my face in my hands when I saw it was (Y/N)'s house, peering through the gaps in my fingers at the lush carpet. _But why am I here?_

I stood up, trying so hard to keep my balance, as well as my head from exploding. _Guess it's time to investigate._

I crept around the house for only a moment because I soon heard the sizzling of a frying pan. _Waffles. Of course_. I would've thought the smell was warm and inviting if my throat hadn't wanted to continuously remind me of my alcoholic consumption the night before.

I rounded the corner into the kitchen to see (Y/N) steadily at work over her waffle iron, a towering stack of waffles waiting to be feasted on her to her right. _God, she looks so gorgeous._ My eyes trailed over her body for a moment or two until I remembered that I'm not supposed to look at friends like that. _Stop thinking that it'll happen, man._

I lost my train of thought when (Y/N) cleared her throat while holding out a couple of giant pills, with a glass of water resting on the counter to her left. I hastily groped them out of her hands and downed them in two seconds flat.

"I am eternally grateful," I said afterwards. I was expecting a snarky comeback in return but only got a stiff nod and a tight-lipped smile.

I sat down at the kitchen island, praying to _God Almighty Above_ that this hangover would wear off soon. After all, I had to leave—

Oh, shit.

"Holy fuck, what time is it?!" I asked, jumping up from my spot, rearing to dash out of (Y/N)'s house. _Oh, dammit, I'm so dead. By this time tomorrow, my body will be washed up on the banks of some river_. "I've gotta go right now, I'm sorry-"

"Michael, it's alright!" (Y/N) whirled around. "Do you seriously think I'd let you oversleep? Besides, I already texted the rest of the band. They know where you are. You won't be late." She watched me for a while longer. Then she twisted back around, her expression changing to something almost... shy? Angry? Or maybe a mixture of both.

"Hey," I whispered. (Y/N) glanced over her shoulder. "You good?" Her lips set into a thin line before speaking and her words came out very curtly.

"Yep. I'm great. Just fantastic."

"No, seriously," I said, stepping closer to her. "What's wrong? Did I offend you or something?" My brows furrowed together.

At that moment, (Y/N) spun back to face me, a full argument about to burst from her lips, but she fell short. There was a pause. "Oh, my God, you don't remember."

I only became more confused. "Remember? So I _did_ do something that hurt you?"

(Y/N) huffed out a sigh. "Okay, you didn't necessarily hurt me—well, actually—no, I just, I guess I kind of, you know, um..." (Y/N) rambled off sporadically, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "Actually, you know what?" She inhaled deeply. "I-" there was hesitation. "I'll tell you... after you brush your teeth."

———————————

After questioning—jokingly, of course—if my breath really smelled _that bad_ , I went upstairs. I brushed my teeth with an extra toothbrush (Y/N) kept around for days like today.

I returned, feeling much better now that my mouth tasted of mint, and sat down at the island, waiting. (Y/N) had finished making waffles and was sitting opposite me. Her thumbs twiddled over one another, a nervous habit I've seen her do over the years. Now I was _really_ concerned. _Did I do something bad? Did I tell her—?_

"Mikey..." her face was super pink. "I'm just gonna come right out and say it." (Y/N) leaned her arms on the counter, business-like. She looked like she was mulling over what to say in her head, before she quickly moved around the island be next to me. "Actually..." she gnawed at her lip. "Let me try something. To jog your memory."

I nodded solemnly, not sure what to expect. Soon enough, (Y/N) moved closer and delicately placed her lips on mine, moving them uncertainly. I immediately closed my eyes, and kissed back, allowing one hand to cup her face, the other resting on her hip. I savored the feeling of being able to touch her like this; sweetly, lovingly. She snaked her arms around my waist, pulling me in closer. We stayed like that for what feels like forever. But then (Y/N) pulled back, all too soon.

My eyes fluttered open to ask why she had stopped, but came short. Instead, another question formed. "Wait, why do you think this would jog my-?"

I answered that question for myself.

I guess my gaze shifted to the floor, because I snapped my head back up to search in (Y/N)'s face for any signs. Her eyes were wide as she continued to chew on her lip, like she hadn't stopped. She didn't even need to say anything, only look at me. And I knew instantly.

"Oh, Jesus!" I shouted, my head falling into my hands. "I can't believe I did that. I am so sorry, really."

"Mikey?" (Y/N) said. I straightened up as she spoke. "You um... you also, may have told me you, uh, you loved me." She half smiled, twisting her fingers together. My mouth gaped open. Like a goldfish, floundering for words to say.

"I... I did? That's- that-"

(Y/N) cut me off before I could bullshit some excuse. "Hold up, man. I'm not accusing you of anything..." She trailed off, as if she were reluctant to say what came next. "Though, I am wondering... if that's... true." And then she tagged on, "Not like friends, either."

I inhaled deeply. _Better now than never?_ I couldn't look at her as the words tumbled out. "Yes. Yes, it is." I shook my head, scoffing. "I've... I've loved you for a while now." I thought for a second, maybe trying to find the right way to articulate my feelings. I couldn't. "And I apologize if I've hurt our friendship, or you, at all. Even in the slightest."

There was an infinity of quiet. Of utter silence. It seemed to stretch on forever.

Yet, it was broken, by the sound of laughter. A small, bubbly giggle. I tore my gaze away from the nearest wall to watch (Y/N), skeptical to believe that this could have led to something good. I began to feel self-conscious. I just poured my fucking heart out to her and now she's laughing? Great. I made a move to dart out of the kitchen, just to save myself from further embarrassment, when (Y/N) caught my arm.

"Oh, nonono, Michael, I'm sorry," she said, controlling her laughter. I sat back down. She took a couple even breaths to calm down before she continued. "I wasn't laughing at you, I promise. I just... I just thought about how ironic it is. This whole situation."

"... Huh?" Was all I could muster up.

(Y/N) shook her head with a small smile. "After all this time. I thought..." She bore her eyes into mine, intensely. "I thought that you might feel something. That you might feel anything. And I'm so relieved to know that I wasn't just imagining it."

There was a glimmer of hope in my chest, my stomach doing somersaults. I opened my mouth to say something, but (Y/N) stopped me by kissing me again. I reciprocated the feeling and let my lips glide over hers. It felt so right, so good. It was better than I ever imagined.


	4. You're Ticklish? - 4/4 Blurb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4/4 where he finds out that you are really ticklish.

_ Ashton _

“Honestly, you are _such_ a hipster.”

“Am not!”

“Are too! Who the actual fuck eats kale because they think it tastes good?”

Ashton’s face contorted into a grimace. Or a defeated frown. _Because it’s so true_.

“And you talk about how health conscience you are and how you blend your kale into an all-natural smoothie.”

“Actually, that’s just me being a healthy person, unlike you.” He retorted, crossing his arms over his chest, defending himself.

“Oh, hun,” you said, patting his cheek. “Where’s the fun in being healthy?”

“Living longer?”

“Other than that.”

Ashton thought about it for a second. He couldn’t seem to come up with anything. “At least I don’t… You know… do that, um, thing…” He trailed off. Ash was trying to come up with an appropriate insult, but was failing miserably. He fell silent.

Then he decided that his best move was to poke you in the side.

You automatically yelped. Ashton was taken aback, surely not expecting you to make that kind of sound. Like a small animal being hit by a car. His eyes widened. _Oh, no,_ you thought. Ash smirked, readying his hands like he was about to play some really intense sport. _He finally found it. This is the end of me._

“At least I’m not… ticklish!” Ash sprang into action. He jabbed and poked, as if there were no tomorrow. It was incessant. You were positive torture would’ve been nicer than this. Actually, torture would’ve _definitely_ been better than this.

One eternity later, the laughing stopped. Ashton seemed _reallllly_ pleased with himself. You glared at him, just for a few moments too long. To make him feel intimidated. “This isn’t over,” you said defiantly. “Not. Over.” You stalked off with the last word. Outwardly, you might have seemed like you were calming down, though on the inside, you were already plotting your revenge.

 

_ Luke  _

Your boyfriend held up two movies: _Deadpool_ and _The Hangover._ “Which one?” He asked, a serious look on his face.

“ _Deadpool_. Always and forever,” you responded, like it was the most obvious thing on the planet. Luke popped the movie in then sat down snuggled up next to you, grabbing a bowl of popcorn on his way over.

About halfway through the film, Luke’s phone vibrated in his pocket. That wouldn’t have been a problem if you two hadn’t been cuddling. The vibration on your lower thigh made you twitch, letting out a small titter of laughter. His phone buzzed again and you giggled louder this time. “Get your phone before it goes off again!” You said, pushing yourself up.

Luke sat up and looked at you quizzically, while reaching into his pocket. You shrugged and said, “It tickled.”

He gave you weird look and put his phone on the coffee table.

“What?” You asked. “It did.”

“That little buzz? It tickled?”

“Yes!” You said, turning around to face him properly. You raised an eyebrow at him, and he raised one at you. “You gotta problem with that, bub?” You challenged.

“No,” he said, cocking his head. “But you will.”

Ever so carefully, he traced his fingers lightly over your bare skin. You immediately reacted and began to writhe under his touch. “Noooo…” You whined.

“Yesss,” Luke retorted. Completely forgetting about the movie, he tickled you harder, getting a decent amount of laughs and shrieking from you. Luke chuckled at your own laughter, evidently very pleased with himself.

“You- fucker-” was all you managed to get out between giggles.

You weren’t sure why he stopped when he did. It seemed like he was just getting started. You looked at him to see he was staring at you.

“What?” You questioned.

Luke smiled. “You are so fucking cute. I can’t even begin to explain how cute you are.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and he reciprocated. “Fucking whore,” you spat as you turned back around to cuddle again; there was no venom in your voice.

“Fucking nerd,” he returned–equally as lovingly–while snuggling up to you.

You simpered to yourself and got comfortable as you returned your attention back to the movie.

 

_ Calum  _

“Jesus, it’s hot out.” Cal complained, walking onto the patio. He had changed into his swim trunks, which left his bare chest exposed.

“Well, if you’re so warm, go jump in the pool,” you said, turning to the next page in your book. Calum walked over and sat on the edge of your lounge chair. You looked up from your book to see he was giving you his signature puppy-dog eyes.

“But babe…” He said, lower lip jutting out. “You said you’d come in with me.” He held his hands up under his chin like a beggar and scooted closer to you. “Pweeeeeeaaasssseeee?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes since Calum couldn’t see it under your dark sunglasses. He sat his chin on top of your knee now, determined to cutely guilt trip you. You huffed a big sigh and closed your book with a snap. Calum cheered and stood to help you up.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you joked, with a smile and a finger pointed at him. He smirked and gave you a quick kiss before taking your hand and leading you to the pool.

As you encountered the ledge, Cal looked at you, smiling brightly. You delicately dipped your toe into the water and shivered a little bit. “Cold?” He asked. You nodded. He quickly squeezed your hand. “Count of three, okay?” Calum said.

“Sure,” you said. When Cal turned his gaze to the water you smiled evilly.

“One. Two. Thr-“

Before he could finish, you let go of his hand and shoved with all of your might. Calum, not at all expecting that surprise attack, toppled over. When he popped back out of the water, his hair was sticking up in all different directions, and his face was hard set, clearly feeling betrayed. You started sniggering at the sight, so hard you could barely breathe.

“You are so in trouble,” Cal said. Just before you could stutter out a syllable, Calum snagged your outstretched hand that had been pointing at him as you laughed, and tugged you into the freezing water.

“Holy shit!” You screamed after coming up to the surface. You splashed Calum. “Not fair!” You pouted, crossing your arms. The water just above your waist, so you could still reach the bottom.

“Not fair?” Cal grinned devilishly. “I’ll show you not fair.” Calum pounced, and tried to push you underwater. That was until you started giggling profusely. Cal stopped, looking at you questioningly. Then a look of understanding crossed his face and he smirked. “So…” He started; you began to back away from him slowly. “Ticklish, huh?”

Right as you tried to make a mad dash to safety, Calum got a hold of you and started to tickle. You squealed and plead for him to stop in between gasping for oxygen. Eventually, he stopped. He held you up as you’re breathing evened; you could barely stand. His skin was warm against your own, and you stayed that way for a few seconds longer then you needed.

You looked up, then, to see his smug face.

“I hate you. So much.”

He looked at you fondly. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive to touch.”

You shook your head, feeling tired. “Ugh. I hate it.”

Cal leaned down and kissed you gently. “Well,” he said after pulling back, “I _love_ it.”

 

_ Michael  _

You woke up to being spooned by Michael. You turned around in his arms to see he was already awake and smiled affectionately.

“Good morning, darlin’,” he said, returning the smile. His words ran together a little bit, still not fully awake.

“G’morning.”

You rested your head on his bare chest, not ready to get up yet. “What time is it?” You asked.

“Uh…” Michael checked the time. “About a quarter to eight.”

You groaned very loudly and sat up from the bed. “I have to get to work soon.”

Mike frowned. “But I thought you took the day off?” His statement came as more of a question.

“I did, but Stacy asked me to cover her shift for today because she has something going on. A nephew’s bar mitzvah. Or a gynecologist appointment. I can’t remember.”

“Those are two _very_ different things, babe.”

“I know, I know,” you said with a wave of your hand. You needed to get dressed. “Where the _fuck_ are my clothes?” You searched the room, considering the fact that they might be in other rooms right now.

“Maybe,” Mike started, “they disappeared, meaning you have to stay here the rest of the day.”

“I could steal your clothes if I really had to,” you countered.

“Aw, babe, that’s so hot, don’t tempt me like that.”

You scoffed. “You are so uncouth.” You went to glance into the bathroom, and saw a pile of dark clothes.

“Don’t use such big words, it’s morning,” Mikey complained. After you saw that they were yours, you picked up the articles of clothing and started to put them on. You stumbled back into Mike’s bedroom, jeans halfway on, in search of your phone. You paused at the night stand so you could bend down and give Michael a kiss. He reached up to cup your face gently. The touch, however, was a little _too_ gentle. His fingers brushed your face so lightly that you snorted. Very unattractively. In the middle of kiss.

Your cheeks burned as you quickly drew back.

“What the hell was that?” Mikey asked, chortling himself.

You sheepishly grinned at him. “You tickled me.”

Michael made a ‘hmph’ noise, like he was mulling something over. He then stroked your sides carefully. “Does this tickle?” He asked curiously. You nodded while giggling. “How about this?” He said, prodding at your stomach. You squirmed this time, cackling rather loudly. Mike continued to do this until you fell onto the bed, unable to support your weight any more.

You leaned up to give him a short kiss to show you weren’t mad at him. But it got a longer. And more heated. Somehow you found yourself in his lap, wholly wrapped up in him and him alone. You pulled away long enough to say, “I think I’ll call in sick,” and then Michael’s lips were on yours again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize if the characterization in this is a little off, I wanted to write this in a single day but didn't start until the afternoon, so I published it at like 1 in the morning.


	5. Impressions - Calum Hood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen is-finally-meeting Calum’s family for the first time, and she's very anxious. But things take a different turn when she and Calum have a heart-to-heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is written in 1st person bc it originally wasn't going to be a fic, but I soon made it one since I thought it’d be v cute.

I wake up to someone tickling my feet. I squealed and tried to escape under the covers, but that didn't stop Cal. When my feet disappeared, I peeked out from under the mass of blankets, Calum frowned that adorable puppy-dog frown that shows off his beautiful brown eyes. I giggled. He sat back on his heels for a moment before he suddenly collapsed on top of me.

I laughed some more while trying to push him off me. "Cal! Calum! Get off-- I can't-- breathe-!" I gasped for air dramatically. He remained on top of me, still as stone.

"Can't. I'm dead."

With a few more exaggerated shoves, I gave up. "Wow," I sighed, "so this is how I'm gonna die. My boyfriend squishing me."

"Well, it's a helluva way to go." Calum chuckled, a twinkle in his eyes.

I laughed as well and gave him a peck on the lips. "Ugh. I hate you so much," I said with a roll of my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I love you, too." He leaned in and gave me a long and sweet kiss. "Now," Cal stated, getting out of bed. "Time to get ready."

I was shaking.

My whole body was thrumming with nervous energy. Calum took my hand in his and rubbed soothing circles on it with his thumb. We looked at each other and I bit my lip. He squeezed my hand gently to reassure me. I relaxed at his calming touch and took the final steps the old porch. He rang the doorbell and waited patiently.

The door opened to reveal Mali-Koa, looking as beautiful as ever. I've never met her before but Calum has shown me many pictures of her. Calum smiled like he's never smiled before and tugged his sister into his arms. "Hey, Mali," he said.

"Hey, Cal," she responded sweetly, hugging him back just as tightly.

I stood there awkwardly, not sure if I should be smiling and waiting or--

"And you must be Guinevere," Mali-Koa said as she unwound herself from her brother. She had such a gorgeous smile and kind eyes.

"Yes, but please, call me Gwen," I explained, shaking her hand.

"Is mum in the kitchen?" Cal asked, jabbing his thumb into the house. Mali nodded. "And dad?"

"Should be home soon," she said. He grabbed my hand and pulled me inside.

As he guided me through the house he gave my hand another quick squeeze. I noticed the house itself was quite cozy. There were a lot of family pictures hung up, although I was going too fast to get a proper look at them. A faint hint of vanilla and something that was just... Calum lingered in the air, as well as another familiar scent I couldn't identify.

In the kitchen, there was a shorter, a bit more stoutly woman slaving over a stove with pots and pans scattered over the burners.

"Hey, mum." The words left Calum's mouth with excitement.

Cal's mom, Joy, turned around, her smile lighting up the room. "Oh, my boy!" She exclaimed, hurriedly jogging over; she grasped his face in her hands--making his cheeks look super chubby---and started showering him with kisses.

I thought it was endearing that Calum cared about his family so much. It was even more endearing that he has tattoos for his family members.

"Mum," Calum introduced, "This is-"

"I know, I know," she shoved him aside playfully and made her way over to me, a friendly simper on her lips. She looked like Mali-Koa, just a little older. More laugh lines. "Guinevere," was all she said, a fond look on her face. Then she pulled me into a tight hug. "It's so lovely to finally meet you."

"You, too, Mrs. Hood." I smiled sheepishly, now feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the hugging.

Cal's mom tutted—call me Joy, dear—as I blushed, attempting to acquaint myself with the atmosphere of the house. I drew in a deep, calming breath.

 _Wait, is that-_ "Chicken parmesan?" It smelled absolutely heavenly. That was the smell I couldn't put my finger on earlier.

Calum nodded.

"Callie here told me it's your favorite, so of course I had to make it." Joy added. "He's always talking about you."

I  smiled a bit, turning to face Cal, who's face had gone beat red. In a split second he grabbed my hand and pulled me out the kitchen. I got out a quick, "Thank you, Joy," before we made it out of the room.

Once in the living room, Calum let go of my hand, pointedly not looking at me. I giggled at his red cheeks. Suddenly his embarrassment was replaced with a pout and the cross of his arms over his chest.

"Oh, nonononono," I said, tugging him into a hug. "I'm not laughing at you. Really, I was laughing because you are so cute when you pout." I released my grip and held Cal at arm's length, looking him in the eye. "Really."

His frown turned into an adorable smile quickly. I smiled back widely and pecked his nose.

"What should we do while dinner is being made?"

Cal's lips twitched into a smirk. "Make-out?"

My mouth gaped open like a fish. I smacked him on the shoulder jokingly. "No, you horn dog, I meant anything other than that." I glanced around the room until my gaze landed on a thick, plush book with a picture window on top. "How 'bout looking through scrapbooks?" I suggested, waggling my eyebrows.

"UGHHHHH," Cal groaned with a roll of his eyes, stepping out my hold.

"C'mon, we'll make it fun! I'll commentate on what's probably not going on in the pictures?"

He considered that for a moment before picking up the scrapbook. He plopped down on the couch and patted the spot right next to him. I squealed happily and immediately sat with him, eager to see lil baby Calum.

About halfway through second scrapbook, Mali-Koa came in to tell us that dinner was ready. Just before we left, I saw a picture out of the corner of my eye of Cal and a few other guys. It reminded me of a garage band.

I'd have to ask him about it later.  
  
  


"So, Calum," Joy began, "how's footie?"

I sip at my wine, a simper on my lips. That chicken parm was _fantastic_.

"It's okay. Why do you ask? You can watch my matches on the T.V., remember?" He twirled the pasta around his fork absentmindedly.

Joy waved him off, "Oh, I know; I just don't get to see what it's like behind the scenes. But it's just okay?"

"Yeah, no. I'm fine. It's fine... Sometimes I rethink about the decision I made, that's all.""

I paused my glass mid-air, not sure what was happening in that moment. I peered over at Mali, who seemed equally as perplexed as I was. That's when Cal's dad commented.

"Is everything alright?"

Calum's jaw twitched. "Actually, I shouldn't have brought it up in the first place."

"Callie-"

"Seriously, I'm okay. Besides, this dinner isn't about me." Cal turned his head and directed his kindest smile at me. "It's about Gwen."

Whether he realized it or not, Calum took my hand in his and squeezed it a few times. _I need you right now._

So all through the rest of dinner Calum's parents and sister would ask me questions about myself that I would answer, and I'd shoot back a few questions of my own. As soon as dinner was over, Cal announced, "I'm gonna give Gwen a tour of the house," and I was being whisked away before I could even offer to help with the dishes and leftovers.

Immediately I was lead into a small room on the left down the short hallway. Cal opened the door and let us inside, quickly shutting it as soon as I got in. My eyes roamed the room, skimming over the old All Time Low and Blink-182 posters, a few (smaller) ones of popular Aussie football stars, and a CD collection that was to die for. Over in the corner was a small bed, a mess of pillows and blankets that Cal sat on warily.

"This is your room, isn't it." It came out more like a statement than a question.

"Technically it's now a guest bedroom, but... yeah, it's mine."

I sat beside Cal. He pointedly tried to look at anywhere but me while I stared him down; eventually he gave in.

"Are you going to explain what happened?" I questioned sternly.

There was a best of silence. "It's nothing, just..." Calum worked his teeth over his lip. "I don't mean to get serious right now, um. I just wonder about what was possible. About my  opportunities I could've taken."

I laid my hand on top of his, a reassuring gesture. I squeezed a few times; _I'm here for you._ He let out an unamused chuckle. "My, uh, my _potential._ " He spat out the word, as if it were a joke. "Y'know, I'm sorry. I'm not making much sense... it's hard to explain, 's all."

I nudged his shoulder with mine. "Well, maybe--instead of talking--you could show me. If you want. If that's even easier."

Cal smiled softly. "Actually, I- I can. I'll be right back." He kissed my knuckles then left, off to find...  _something_

Not two minutes later, Calum was lugging in two black cases. Two black _guitar_ cases. He opened the first one, which revealed a beat-up Yamaha, and handed the guitar to me. I took it, confused.

"Wait. Why do guitars have anything to do with your 'potential'?" I said this without realizing I had, because as soon as the words left my mouth, it clicked into place. "You... you were in a band, weren't you?"

Cal stilled over the other case then nodded his head. He got the other instrument out of that case. Except it had four strings. He looked at it and smiled fondly. "The bassist, to be exact."  He plucked at the strings as he sat across from me on the floor, tuning it. The guitar had settled into my lap familiarly, given that I've played for the longest time. Since I got no other explanation I began tuning as well.

Worn from the years, the Yamaha had a warm tone to it, the kind I like. I simpered and strummed a few stray chords, nitpicking at the tuning.  When it sounded good enough, I glanced up, catching Calum staring at me.

"... What?" I questioned.

He shook his head, chortling. "Ah, nothing, nothing... this is nice, being with you like this."  He fiddled with the strings again.

I observed him for a couple of seconds; he seemed so... happy, so at peace playing. _Why would you ever give this up?_

"Well," Cal said, answering the question I apparently said out loud, "I mean, I had a choice: football or the band. I couldn't do both after so long.  So I chose footie."

I nodded, chewing the inside of my cheek. "I understand." We let the conversation fall away, only music breaking any silence. Eventually I started strumming a song thatI knew but couldn't remember the name of. When I started singing, though, it hit me: Remembering Sunday.

" _He woke up this morning and put on his shoes/started making his way past two in the morning/he hasn't been sober for days..."_

"Is that All Time Low?" Cal breathes. I shake my head 'yes' and sing some more. "Didn't know you even  _liked_ All Time Low."

"Ididn't even know you played any instruments, let along were in a band," I retorted.

"... Touché," he said with a playful glare.

I felt a bit self-conscious of playing in front of Calum, since I never really play in front of anyone. Yet, I figured that if we wanted to let more out into the air, playing does put us closer together. When the second verse rolled around, Cal sang along, adding in some bass as well. He was a little rusty, but that's to be expected if hasn't played in a while. Apart from that, that little jam session had become a special moment. Just for us. Cal soon switched from melodies to harmonies which only made the song sound better.

I wanted to relish in that surreal, magical moment forever, so when we finished the song, I was left feeling bittersweet.  But also enlightened.

I sat the Yamaha down in its case along with the bass in it's respective one as well, much to Calum's chagrin. I held out my hands and helped him up.

Without pause, I gripped his shirt collar and tugged his mouth to mine. I smiled into the kiss, elated, and Cal reciprocated. We broke apart briefly for me to say, "Thank you for telling me."

Calum responded by kissing me again, and we both fell onto the bed, giggling. He put his forehead on mine, looking into my eyes as much as I was looking into has soft, brown ones. Quickly finding my hand with his own, he held it, and gave it a strong, solitary squeeze.

 _I love you_.

 


	6. Blue Hair, Blue Eyes - Muke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luke hemming’s asshole friends decided it would be funny to unknowingly dye his hair bright blue. now he’s at the store figuring out what the hell all of this hair stuff is when a certain sales associate with striking red hair gives him a hand

I woke up that morning with difficulty. My eyes could barely stay open as I went to take a shower. Every step sent a wave of light nausea through me. Every beam of light that passed my face by became a glimpse of searing pain, hitting my brain like a baseball making contact with a bat that had been moving at 100 miles per hour. When I turned the water on, I physically flinched at the loud sound. As I (begrudgingly) ducked past the curtain, the hot water eased the tension in my shoulders. Not in my stomach, though, but you can only ask for so much.

_Why. So much. Alcohol._

My brain barely formed coherent sentences. It hurt to think too much. I didn’t even bother trying to recollect what happened the night prior, knowing it wouldn’t be much. And even the moments I might’ve remembered still had the slightest possibility of being something straight out of my imagination. Either way…

I gently toed out of the shower while wrapping a towel around my waist. That proved to be more difficult as it should’ve been, considering that I slipped on the wet tile floor and knocked my head into the counter.

“Fuuucccccckkkkkkkkk,” I groaned. I put a hand to my forehead and felt something wet and a bit sticky. My head was bleeding.

_“Fuuuuuucccccckkkkkk.”_

I plucked up my towel from the floor and heaved a long sigh. I secured it around my waist–tightly–all the while muttering profanities under my breath. It felt like the world was testing me.

_Gotta hangover? Are you already lanky and clumsy in the first place?  Would you like a headache that’ll last for days? Congratulations! You’re the lucky winner. To collect your prize just. Just be yourself._

And that I did.

I pulled out some Band-Aids from one of the drawers in my bathroom just in case. It wasn’t until I went to inspect the cut is when I saw it. I dropped the box in horror.

 _What the fuck. What the_ fuck?

“ _What the_ actual _fuck?!”_  The sound of my own loud voice made me wince. I leaned in closer to  the mirror and ran my hands through my hair. _Oh my god. Ohhhh myyyy goooddddd._

Blue. All I saw. Was… just. Fucking blue. My hair was bright blue. Like god damn fairy floss. _This can’t possibly be my own reflection._  I tugged hard on my hair, praying to the gods above that this was some kind of practical joke. Unfortunately, I yelped at the pain that blossomed over my scalp, then frowned.

 _How could this have happened? I mean, I know I was drunk but I didn’t think I was_ that _far gone. Who could’ve–?_

My brain processed a lot slower than it should’ve, but it eventually clicked into place.

“ _CALUUUMMM!”_

_13 hours earlier_

“Aw, man, I need to dye my hair again, my roots are comin’ in,” I said. And by said, it was more like a slur.

I hadn’t gotten out of work until 7, while Calum and Ashton got out even later. After a long week’s work, we thought a good ol’ guys’ night was in order, thus leading us to our go-to bar at 10 PM. The drinking had started a bit late, seeing as it was a Friday night, but that hadn’t mattered. Our goal was to have fun and to not worry about what happened during the week.

I was about two shots and a three and a half a beers into our endeavor when I said this. We had been in the normal cover band bar for maybe an hour until we opted out to go to a club instead. Hot, sweaty bodies were all around us as we sat in a booth,  sipping away at our drinks. Ash and I went with a typical beer while Calum went with his usual frilly drink. Some bright pink thing with an umbrella leaning on the side.

(“Dude, how do you _drink_ that?”

“What, it tastes good! Better than that piss you guys drink all the time.”)

There was a mirror to my left where I closely (and drunkenly) studied my hair. The mop of brown on top of my head looked fine, yet it was still obvious that some blond was peeking through.

“Luke, it’s like, completely fine. Don’t worry, bro.” Calum tried to console me. He always appeared more sober than he actually was, which annoyed me to no ends, but he probably said that to get me to stop talking about myself.

I whined. “Nooooo, it’s sooooo baaadddd, Callie. Like. Really. It’s a really bad, um. Sombrero.”

“Sombrero?” Ashton questioned.

“Sombrie…? Osmrey… os- osmosis?”

“Ombré?” Cal supplied.

“Yeah, that,” I replied, grateful. “Ommmmm… breeeeee…” I took another swig from my glass as I drawled out the word.

Ash giggled. “We can help ya out, buddy, and fix up your roots tonight. If ya- if ya wanna,” he hiccupped.

I looked between them and nodded vigorously. Cal and Ash shared a look I couldn’t quite understand, but Ash was smirking.

_This will be fine._

“Alright, boy-o, let’s get ‘er done.”

 _Present_  
I scanned the rows upon rows of different hair products, trying to figure out what _the hell_ half of this stuff even means. _I don’t know how to use hair dye. Let alone how to use bleach. A professional does my hair. Why is there so much to look at. Why._

Although, just as I was about to give up and consider shaving my hair off completely–

“Can I help you find anything today, sir?”

My head pivoted in the direction of the new voice, almost reluctant to do so… but then I remembered that I put a beanie on over my hair before I left the house. And a pair of sunglasses, even though the weather was fairly cloudy. Hangovers are classy as shit, if I do say so myself.

I first noticed the shocking red hair. Like… _red_ -red. Fire engine red.

I looked down from my stupor of, “Wow that’s red,” to find the waiting face of the sales associate to my right. His smile was polite, in that helping-customers kind of way.

“Um…” I thought. “Yeah. Please, I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.” I poked at a couple of jars of dye in frustration. “This isn’t really something I do.”

The sales associate’s–whose name tag read as, “Michael”–smile widens, almost into a kind of smirk. “Well, luckily for you, I happen to know a thing or two about dying hair and whatnot.”

I laughed at that. “Thought you might.”

Michael laughed as well; a cute, tiny titter I wasn’t expecting from such a lanky person. He continued on without pause. “So, what hair color were you looking for?”

“Just brown.”

“Brown?”

“Brown.”

Michael seemed to think for a moment. “Okay, what’s your hair color now?”

I scratched the back of my neck, and let loose a self-deprecating chuckle. “Um…” _Just show him. It can’t be that bad._ In one fluid motion i pulled the beanie off my head.

I heard a gasp and flinched. I warily opened my eyes-which I didn’t realize I had closed- and snuck a glance at the guy. Instead of being wide-eyed, disgust-filled, and ready to combust from repulsion… I found him wide-eyed and entranced.

I looked around our vicinity, thinking maybe- _just maybe-_ he might be gawking at someone else. Alas, there’s was literally no one except us in the aisle.

My cheeks flamed as he took his hand and sorted through a few locks, and I squirmed under his touch.

I’m not sure if he noticed my discomfort, yet he pulled his hand  back anyways. “Sorry, dude, it’s just… it’s _so fucking pretty.”_ Something close to shock passed over his face. “Er, sorry, I mean it looks really nice.”

I scoffed. “Nice? Yeah, right.”

Michael’s eyebrows furrowed together, though he said nothing about my remark. I was grateful, sighing silently.

“What kind of brown were you looking for?”

“Dunno. Usually get it done professionally. It’s like… warm? I’m not entirely sure.”

“Ooh. Fancy. I do my hair myself.” He beamed confidently at me. It was kind of adorable. Never thought I’d describe a sales associate with punk tattoos as adorable.

Michael returned his attention to the wall of jars and bottles, teeming with hundreds of colors just waiting to be put in someone’s hair. I observed him warily, as he placed his hands his hands on his hips, deep in thought. “I’m presuming that your natural hair color isn’t brown.” He spoke suddenly, yet never took his always off the shelves.

“Uh, yeah. ’S blond, actually.”

“Hm. What type?”

“Like. Dark?”

“M'kay.”

He didn’t continue like I thought he would. A few moments later he picked up two small black pots, and held them up close to his face. After a second, he put one back and reached across me to get something from a different section. He studied those two individually as well, then turned to me, one pierced eyebrow raised.

“Are you positive you don’t want to go back to blond?” Michael asked.

I was a little taken aback by the question in itself. “I mean, I dunno. I’ve had brown hair since I was…” I thought about it for a second, “fifteen? Sixteen? So, like, at least five years.”

Michael’s eyebrows about shot up into his hairline. “Five years of the same hair color? Man, I can barely even keep the same hair color for five _days._ Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but, still. _Five years?_ That is a really long time, dude.”

I laughed. “I guess you’re right… I never really thought about it like that before.”

I mulled the thought through my brain. _Blond. Brown._

“… So?”

I looked Michael in the eyes. “So…” I grinned. “I think a change is in order.”

Michael cheered triumphantly, placing the brown dye back on the shelf, excitedly babbling over the fact that he got me to try something different. He stopped suddenly as he handed me the _blond_ dye and said, “Wait, dude, who’s gonna do your hair then? Like, you’re, um… current hair looks alright, if not a little amateur.”

My eyes widened at the comment, and I immediately tugged my beanie back over my head, cheeks burning red.

“Oh, shit, no I meant–” Michael’s hand flew up to his mouth, maybe surprised that he let those words slip out. “It just looks a little messy, but it looks intentional. No one would know unless you told them.”

I brought my hands away from my hat, but kept it on regardless.

“Anyway. Since I don’t think whoever did your hair was very good, you might not want them to do it.”

“Wait, how did you know that a friend dyed my hair?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Said that you normally get it done professionally. Now, do you think you’ll need help with this? ’M only asking 'cause I’m pretty good with hair.”

I worked my teeth on my lip. _Is he insisting that_ he _should come help? He could be a serial killer, Luke._ I decided against my better judgment as the words left my mouth. “Yeah, probably.” I quickly added on, “How soon could you be able to do it?”

“Uh, tonight. I get off my shift in about an hour. Think you can wait that long?”

I chuckled. “Guess I’ll have to.”

We walked off to the check out, talked about who was going when and where and all the tiny little details. As he had my things rung up, we chatted casually and exchanged numbers.

“Oh, I’m Michael, by the way.” He held out his hand, the other occupied with my phone.

“Luke,” I responded with a smile.

To be funny, he made his name “Hair Dude,” in my phone, to which I made my name in Michael’s phone as “Dye-ing.” He chuckled with a shake of his head. Lightly shoving me in the shoulder, he sent me on my way.  
  


Later that night, I anxiously awaited the arrival of Sales-Associate-Michael. Perfectly reasonable to invite a complete stranger over into your home, right?

I yelped at the sudden knocking on the door from the abrupt loudness. I basically ran to the door and flung it open to a smirking Michael, a beat-up backpack resting on one shoulder. “Bad timing?” He chuckled.

“Oh, nah. ’S fine, dude.” I stepped to the side, and he hopped right on inside. “So… bathroom, then?”

“Bathroom.”

It wasn’t too awkward as I showed the red-headed boy down the hall. Well, I was pretty awkward while I tripped over scattered clothing, but Michael seemed cool and collected, as if he’s used to this kind of thing. I had set everything out before Michael arrived out of plain anxiety. Kinda wished that I’d picked up more of the house, though.

“Here we are,” I said as we approach the dark entryway.

“Sweet,” Michael nodded. Flipping on the light, he analyzed the bathroom. “Got black towels?”

I paused, then hung my head at the question. “Shit. No, I don’t.”

“Ah, no worries, man. I brought some, just in case.”

I sighed in relief. “Oh, thank God. My roommate would be so pissed off if any more towels got hair dye on them.”

Michael nodded again and pulled some towels–as well as a few other things–out of his bag and prepped for work.

“Want something to drink?” I asked. “Water, Coke, lemonade…?”

“Just water’s fine, thanks.”

“Alright, just water,” I repeated. Before fully rounding the corner, I remembered another question. “Oh, also, do you have any preference in music? I have a few albums I could put on.”

“Mm… Have any Green Day albums?”

“'Course! I’ll put on one of 'em. I’ll be right back.”

I retreated to my kitchen, then living room, for only a few minutes, and returned to Michael humming softly to the song playing over the speakers.

“Ready?” I set down the water bottle and clapped my hands together.

“Yep. You?”

I inhaled deeply. “As I’ll ever be.”

With that, Michael spewed out warnings and cautionary phrases (“It might not be completely blond.”).  I’m not sure if it was for my own personal peace of mind, but either way my palms were sweating like crazy.

As time rolled on, I notice that he hadn’t stopped humming since the albums played on. At one point he was even singing under his breath. He had a really nice voice.

“Oh, I, um…” Michael blushed. Apparently I had said that out loud. “I mean I sound alright, I think. Could be better.” He smiled sheepishly and resumed his work.

“No, really, dude. It’s really good. Seriously.”

He only blushed harder at that, and bit his lower lip. He looked kinda… cute.

I kept quite after that, allowing Michael to finish without interruption (and so he’d hopefully start singing again). (And he did.) Being so close to him made every breath I took filled with his cologne, too. It was extremely musky. To the point where I could accurately say it reminded me solely of hot guys.

After what could be described as a painstakingly insufferable (but incredibly interesting) couple of hours, Michael announced, with great pride, “Done!”

I was pulled out of my reverie of Michael’s magical massaging fingers. Timidly, I sat up, preparing myself for the worst. After I quickly glanced at the mirror, my mouth gaped open like a fish. I had to double take. Instead of the typical brown (or even blue for that matter), I was blond. Like really blonde.

“Oh my God!” The words slip out unintentionally, my mind struggling to keep up with everything.

“Like it?” Michael asked, arms crossed over his chest.

I nod vigorously. I play with the freshly dried locks and inspect that strands closely. “I feel like I’m fifteen again.”

I couldn’t stop looking at my reflection. _Must be dreaming._

“Oh, this is real life, sweetheart. And, not to toot my own horn or anything, but uh,” Michael smirked, “I think I did a splendid job.”

I would have rolled my eyes at his little jab if it wasn’t true. Yet, it _was_ true so I couldn’t help but beam.

For the next few minutes–after stopping to peer at my reflection every thirty seconds or so–we cleaned up my mess of a bathroom. As we finished, Michael packed up his things, almost as if it were his cue to leave.

“Hey, you don’t have to go immediately. You could stay and… hang out for a little while?” I smiled sheepishly. “If you want, I mean.” I added as an afterthought.

“Appreciate the offer, but I’ve got places to be. Not to be rude, or anything.” Michael said with a shrug.

A little pang hit me in the chest. “Oh, uh. Okay.”

I showed him to the door without so much as a word after that. My shoulders slumped over just a tad. I was _enjoying_ Michael’s company. I didn’t want him to _leave_.

Right before I closed the door, Michael leaned one arm against the door jamb while his other hand rested on his hip. “Y'know,” he stated, “I really didn’t mean to come off as rude. I mean, I genuinely _do_ have places to be but… yeah. Anyway…”

I chewed at my lip and nodded once. “Yeah, that’s fine. No worries, man.”

He grinned. “Alright, cool.” Michael leaned away as if he were going to leave, but pulled back. There was a pondering look in his eyes. “Hey, um… Actually, I…” He cleared his throat. “You seem like a pretty cool dude. It’d be a shame not to see you again.”

I blushed a bit under Michael’s stare. Something in his eyes…

“I would ask for your number, but I already have it. So I could, theoretically, just text you.”

“True,” I mused curiously.

“Yet, I wouldn’t get to see your reaction if I asked you out on a date.”

 _What_.

“You heard me. You. Me. Going out. On a date. What d'ya think?”

My face bloomed a bright red as I uttered a very quiet, “I’d love to.”

Michael laughed. His laugh was so nice. Like music. “Alright.” A smile a mile wide stretched across his cheeks. “Alright, sounds good. I’ll text you later, then?”

I couldn’t get any coherent words out, so I went with a simple nod.

With that, Michael sent me a departing grin and started off down the hallway. I closed the door behind his departing figure and slid down the wall.

_Oh my God._


End file.
